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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23497801">Flowers In His Hair</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/reveling_in_mayhem/pseuds/reveling_in_mayhem'>reveling_in_mayhem</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>ALL THE FLUFF, Dandelions, First Kiss, Flower Crowns, Fluff, M/M, Parentlock</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 10:14:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,646</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23497801</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/reveling_in_mayhem/pseuds/reveling_in_mayhem</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He stepped closer and Sherlock seemed to hold his breath. John reached a hand up to his hair before gently pulling the dandelion free. “It’s just you still had a flower in your hair,” he explained as he held up the item in question.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>330</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Chelle's Fic Recommendations, Sherlock Fandom VS 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Flowers In His Hair</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The song "Flowers In Your Hair" by The Lumineers has been stuck in my head for days. Consequently, this fic just had to be written. If you haven't heard the song, you should give it a listen!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The grass was springy and cool beneath his fingers as he raked his hand idly through the green blades. The remnants of a last-minute picnic lunch lay scattered over the patch quilt that served as their tablecloth and dry spot to sit. John watched Rosie as she capered about through the grass in her bare feet, blonde curls bouncing, as she bent down periodically to gather the yellow flowers that dotted the park. He already had a small collection in his lap and had begun tying the stems together as he kept an eye on his daughter. </p><p>Sherlock was stretched out beside him on the blanket, eyes closed with his arms crossed beneath his head to serve as a pillow. He had set his jacket aside during their lunch, and John let himself admire the way the tailored button-down stretched across Sherlock’s chest. He had untucked the shirt before laying back, and every now and then a breeze ruffled the ends up and offered tantalizing flashes of smooth porcelain skin. </p><p>Rosie was singing a song to herself, her high pitched voice drifting over to them as she tried to recite all the words to some song John had once caught Sherlock singing to her when he came home from work early. </p><p>
  <i>Green grass grows all around all around and the green grass grows all around.</i>
</p><p>He let his eyes drift back to his friend as he listened to his daughter sing. He honestly wasn’t sure if Sherlock was asleep or simply in his mind palace at the moment. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, and John admitted to himself that seeing that simple movement was worth all of the heartache and pain he had gone through in his life. That steady breathing was proof that Sherlock was here. That John’s friend, his best friend, was alive and well. His daughter’s voice singing in the near distance was just another layer to his happiness. </p><p>Just then that little blonde firecracker bounced up to him and laid several more dandelions in his lap. John smiled at her delighted face as he tied off the crown he had made and placed it atop her curls. “Here you are, princess.”</p><p>She shrieked and danced around excitedly. “Thank you, Daddy, thank you! You’re the best daddy in the whole wide world,” she proclaimed with absolute conviction, and John tried to keep the sadness out of his smile at her praise. She was 3 now, almost 4, and while she accepted her life with the ease of the young, she had started questioning things as she learned more about other families from her daycare. Her family looked different than her little friends, and while she asked the questions with innocent curiosity, John couldn’t help the feelings of guilt that went through him every time they came up. He wanted to be enough for her, and sometimes he worried he never would be. </p><p>“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said, “and you’re the best Rosie in the whole wide world.”</p><p>She grinned widely at that, and nodded in agreement, before running back out for more flowers. John watched her go as he fiddled with the new collection in his lap.</p><p>“You are, you know,” Sherlock’s deep baritone suddenly said, and John jerked in surprise at his voice. </p><p>“I am what?” He asked, too quickly to hide that he had been surprised by Sherlock’s statement.</p><p>“The best daddy. You’re a good father, John,” he said simply. John turned to look at his friend, who was still laid out with his eyes closed. John huffed and tossed a few dandelions at him. One bounced off his cheek, but two more lodged in his hair and John couldn’t help the smile it brought to his face. Sherlock didn’t so much as flinch as the flowers rained down on him. </p><p>John watched his friend for another moment before he sighed. “Thank you.”</p><p>He watched as Sherlock’s mouth stretched into a soft smile, but he said nothing, so John turned back to watch his daughter again. They were quiet for several more minutes before Sherlock stretched his arms out, pulling John’s attention back to him as he pushed himself upright.</p><p>“We should probably get back soon. It will be Watson’s nap time soon,” he suggested, his eyes following her as she knocked on a tree trunk with a stick she had found on the ground. </p><p>“I’ll pack this up if you go catch her and tell her the bad news,” John replied. Sherlock smirked before he stood up. He straightened out his shirt and quickly tucked the ends into the waistband of his tailored trousers. He bent down to grab his jacket, slung it over his arm, and tossed John a wink before he took off towards Rosie.</p><p>“Into battle,” Sherlock threw over his shoulder, and John laughed as he bent to pack away the sandwich wrappers and napkins, the water bottle and the cups they had used, then carefully folded the blanket they had commandeered from Mrs. Hudson after he shook off the bits of flower and grass that stuck to it. He tucked the blanket under his arm and grabbed the basket, also commandeered from Mrs. Hudson, and stood up. He looked over in the direction his friend and daughter had been in and saw them walking back towards him. Sherlock had Rosie propped on his hip and she was giggling excitedly as she stuck dandelions in his hair. </p><p>John waited for them as they approached. He saw them talking together, but they weren't yet close enough where he could hear the words. Rosie held Sherlock’s entire attention, and John felt the now familiar tightening in his chest as he watched the two people he loved most in the world together. He had been worried in the beginning, not sure how Sherlock would handle John returning to 221B with a toddler in tow, but it had turned out to be a complete non-issue. Sherlock was absolutely amazing with Rosie right from the beginning. They were completely enamored with each other, and John didn’t even bother to hide the fond smile he felt on his face.</p><p>When they were close enough that he didn’t have to raise his voice to be heard, he called out to them. “Are you decorating Sherlock, sweetheart?”<br/>
She turned to him with a large smile on her face. “Daddy look, S’lock looks pretty now too. He has a crown! Pretty ‘Lock,” she squealed, turning back to face Sherlock and squeezing his cheeks with her small hands.</p><p>“Yes, Rosie, he’s very pretty. Well done, but let’s have gentle hands, please,” he said, smiling as he watched them. Her small hands moved away from his face after a gentle apology pat, and his eyes moved to Sherlock. His cheeks were slightly pink, and John wasn’t sure if it was just a touch of the sun or if maybe Rosie had squeezed harder than he thought. Sherlock turned his gaze to John for a moment, and the color deepened on his cheeks before he turned back to Rosie. </p><p>Maybe it wasn’t sun or Rosie, then. John pushed the thought from his mind, that line of thinking leading down a dangerous road, and he cleared his throat before giving a more forced smile than he had previously had. </p><p>“Off to home, then?” he asked, and Rosie pouted as he turned and began the trek back to 221B. </p><p>“No sulking, Watson,” Sherlock admonished softly, “it’s been a long day and it’s time for your nap.”</p><p>“No nap! I’m not tired,” Rosie protested.</p><p>“Perhaps I’ll read to you before your nap,” Sherlock offered, and Rosie’s eyes widened in delight. </p><p>“Little bee, little bee!” she cried out, and Sherlock chuckled. John glanced sideways at the two of them.</p><p>“If you like,” he agreed, and her blonde curls bounced as she nodded enthusiastically.</p><p>“She always wants you to read <i>Little Bee</i>,” John said, and both heads turned towards him. </p><p>“Daddy, it’s my favourite. Obviously,” she stated, and John turned to look at his friend who had the decency to look mildly guilty at the new word that had been added to his daughter’s ever-increasing vocabulary.</p><p>“Is that so, Rosie?” he asked, still staring Sherlock in the eye with his eyebrows raised.<br/>
Rosie nodded her head vigorously in affirmation.</p><p>“Well, it is her favourite,” Sherlock stated, the obviously heavily implied, and John just shook his head in mild exasperation, and perhaps more than a small amount of fondness. They walked quietly the rest of the way to Baker Street.</p><p>“You two are going to be the death of me,” John said, as they made their way to the front door of 221B, and he shuffled the blanket and basket around to get his keys from his pocket to unlock the door. Sherlock got there first, however, and unlocked the door, then set Rosie down who bounded up the stairs. He held the door open for John. </p><p>“Well, I certainly hope not. I’m nowhere near done with you, John,” he spoke softly as John passed, and John turned to him for a moment, unsure what to make of the comment. He settled for a quiet huff, a non-answer, and a small smile, then went after Rosie who had already let herself into the flat.</p><p>John put down the blanket and basket by the door. He’d take them back to Mrs. Hudson after he got a chance to clean them. She would insist not to worry about it, but John still felt flashes of guilt for how much he had abused her generosity and friendship in the weeks and months after Mary had died. Of course, it didn’t hold a flame to the guilt he felt for how he treated Sherlock, especially in that damned morgue. Therapy was helping, though. Sherlock had forgiven him, and most days John believed him, but he still had trouble forgiving himself for what he believed was unforgivable. Sherlock was steady, though. His grace on the matter was constant, even years later, and John was grateful. It gave him hope that maybe he really was forgiven. Maybe he really was worth it.</p><p>Sherlock entered behind him and took Rosie towards the bathroom to clean her up and get her to use the toilet before her nap. John made his way into the kitchen and a few moments later Rosie came running from the loo and grabbed his legs. “Up, Daddy! Kisses before nap!”</p><p>John smiled and obliged his daughter, whisking her up in his arms and giving her a hug and kiss. Sherlock followed her into the kitchen and was watching them both.</p><p>“Is Sherlock going to read to you now?” he asked, and Rosie nodded.</p><p>“Yup! Another kiss!” she demanded, and John laughed and kissed her cheek again, but she shook her head. “No, no, not Rosie kisses, ‘Lock kisses!”</p><p>Sherlock stepped closer and bent down to kiss her cheek, but she shook her head again. </p><p>“No, Daddy kisses for ‘Lock!” she explained with the patience of a 3-year-old dealing with slow adults, and John rolled his eyes. He stepped closer to his friend and rose to his toes to kiss his friend’s cheek. John tried to not focus on how Sherlock’s skin felt under his lips, or the way his hair smelled of the expensive honey conditioner he used. Rosie squealed in delight as he finally did what she wanted, and he forced all his attention on her, trying to ignore the way he noticed Sherlock’s cheeks flush up a lovely pink at the kiss. </p><p>“Happy now, sweetheart?” She nodded, and John smiled. “All right, then, no more delaying. Off to nap with you.” He handed her over to Sherlock, who he still couldn’t look in the eye, and watched as they went up the stairs to the room John and her shared. If he was honest, he was getting worried about how fast she was growing. She wouldn’t be able to share a room with him for much longer, and John didn’t want to leave 221B. But what choice would they have when it came time? He supposed he could maybe rent 221C from Mrs. Hudson. It wasn’t ideal, especially with the mold issues and a young child, but they could make it work.</p><p>He shook those thoughts away as he filled the kettle with water for tea. He got down mugs and bags while the water heated up and tried to keep his thoughts from wandering too far again. He could just hear Sherlock as he settled Rosie down for her nap and her requests for the blanket to lay a certain way, the pillow to be fluffed to optimum fluffiness, her stuffed rabbit to be tucked in as well. John couldn’t decipher Sherlock’s deep baritone replies, but Rosie soon stopped her requests and he could hear the steady rhythm of the story as he began to read.</p><p>The kettle flicked off and John poured the hot water over the bags, then went to the refrigerator for the milk. The contents of the fridge were nearly a shock, even though he knew what would be inside as he did most of the shopping. Of course, it wasn’t what was in the fridge that was surprising. It was what wasn’t. There were no tissue samples, no organs, no experiments. Those had all been moved to a small fridge that was kept in Sherlock’s bedroom. He still experimented in the kitchen, but he usually did it during Rosie’s naps or at night now. Just another physical reminder of the changes that have been made, the way Sherlock had changed, to accommodate Rosie and his return to Baker Street. </p><p>John could now hear Sherlock’s voice coming down the stairs, the sound rising and falling in a simple melody. He couldn’t help the small smile that rose to his lips. This was his favorite part of Rosie’s naptime when Sherlock took point. Rosie always wanted Sherlock to sing her to sleep, and Sherlock always did. John wasn’t always there to hear it, though, as Sherlock often handled nap time while John was on his shift at the clinic. Sherlock often preferred to keep her at the flat when he wasn’t working a case rather than send her to daycare, and John didn’t have the heart to argue that she should be there. So he made as little noise as possible while he finished preparing the cups of tea in order to hear what he could. </p><p>John stirred the sugar into Sherlock’s cup as the song came to its end, his lovely voice floating softly down from the room. He imagined Sherlock carefully tucking the blanket around Rosie, maybe brushing a stray curl from her forehead, and his heart felt so full that he thought it could burst and he would die a happy man.</p><p>When he heard Sherlock coming down the stairs he picked up Sherlock’s cup. He held it out to him when Sherlock rounded the corner, and his long fingers brushed gently over John’s shorter digits, causing the now familiar tingle that zipped along his nerves at every casual touch they shared over the years. </p><p>“Thank you,” Sherlock murmured as he took a careful sip of the hot beverage. He hummed in appreciation. “Perfect, John, as always.”</p><p>“You’re welcome,” John responded, keeping his voice low to not wake Rosie before he took a sip of his own tea. “Did she go down ok?”</p><p>“Of course. She usually does, though I’m not sure how much longer she will be keeping her nap. I believe she’s on the tail end of taking one.”</p><p>“Rue the day that comes,” John said with a wry smile, and Sherlock smirked at him before he turned away to presumably walk to his chair. </p><p>There was a perfect yellow circle caught in his dark curls. Sherlock must have missed it when he went to clean them from his hair before he put Rosie down for her nap. It was completely charming, and John couldn’t help the soft chuckle that bubbled up. Sherlock turned back to him, a prim eyebrow reaching towards his hairline. </p><p>“Something funny?” he questioned and John put down his cup of tea on the counter.</p><p>He stepped closer and Sherlock seemed to hold his breath. John reached a hand up to his hair before gently pulling the dandelion free. “It’s just you still had a flower in your hair,” he explained as he held up the item in question. </p><p>Sherlock put his cup down by John’s on the counter and gently removed the flower from his hand. “Do you know much about dandelions, John?” he queried softly but didn’t wait for an answer. John couldn’t have given one if he had. He was too caught up in how close Sherlock was, his body’s warmth filling the space between them, his scent overpowering his other senses. “It’s such a common plant. A weed, really. A humble and simple bloom. It’s not showy. But it’s a hearty plant, at that. It can bloom almost anywhere, it thrives in harsh environments. It’s often shown as a symbol of life, of intelligence, of hope.” Sherlock turned his sharp gaze from the yellow bloom in his hand to John, and John couldn’t breathe. “It rather reminds me of you.”</p><p>John held Sherlock’s gaze, unable to look away, even as his heart pounded frantically in his chest. </p><p>“I’ve always been partial to the fluffy kind. When you can make wishes,” he confided. “Childish, I know, but I like the idea of making a wish and blowing it away. Sending it off into the world and hoping it comes true.”</p><p>“What do you wish for, John?” he asked.</p><p>“I have almost everything I want, really. I have Rosie. I have a home. I have...you.”</p><p>Sherlock looked thoughtful for a moment. “Almost everything. What’s missing? If you could wish for anything, what would it be?”</p><p>John looked into Sherlock’s eyes as his thoughts raced. What would he wish for? What would make this little piece of happiness that he had managed to carve out of his mess of life just that much better? What was he missing, that he desperately wanted, but was terrified to ask for?</p><p>What would he wish for and hope the world would grant?</p><p>His friend’s eyes were intense on his, searching, and John was sure that Sherlock knew what his wish was. </p><p>He dropped Sherlock’s gaze for a moment, forced himself to take a deep breath before he met his friend’s eyes again. </p><p>“If I could wish for anything…” he replied and then stopped, unable to finish.</p><p>“Yes?” Sherlock asked as the moment stretched impossibly between them. He took a step closer and John swayed unconsciously towards him, his eyes flickering down to Sherlock’s mouth before he looked back into his eyes. Sherlock tracked the movement, and John was emboldened by the sudden heat he saw in Sherlock’s eyes.</p><p>“I’d wish for you to kiss me,” he whispered, surprised at his own breathlessness and boldness at admitting it. “If I could wish for anything, I’d wish for you to kiss me.”</p><p>Sherlock’s lips quirked up as he stepped impossibly closer to him, one large hand coming up to cup John’s jaw, and John’s eyes closed without his consent to revel in the feeling of that warm palm against his flesh. Sherlock’s hand moved back, long fingers curled into the hair at the back of John’s head, and John felt Sherlock’s breath ghost across his lips before there was the soft, tender press of those perfect lips against his. He was surrounded by Sherlock. The warmth that radiated off of his body and the lips pressed against his, that sweet honey-scented conditioner and some herbal concoction that John had never been able to parse apart, the faint trace of the chemicals that he worked with, then something else that was just Sherlock. Something that spoke of home. </p><p>He gasped, his mind and body finally coming together to react to this moment. His hands came up and fisted into Sherlock’s shirt as he pulled him closer. He tasted the tea and sugar on Sherlock’s lips, and he wanted more, to taste the sweetness of Sherlock’s mouth. He gently flicked his tongue against Sherlock’s bottom lip to get that taste. Sherlock made a sound in the back of his throat and his lips parted. John pressed up and deepened the kiss, just a bit, just a careful slide of his tongue against Sherlock’s. Both hummed their pleasure at this, then John broke away with a breathless giggle. He felt light, like a boy again, the one he used to be before the world tried to beat him down. Sherlock smiled down at him before he rested his forehead against John’s and he began to giggle as well.</p><p>John pulled back and looked into Sherlock’s eyes as their giggles slowed down and eventually silenced. He couldn’t have stopped the dopey smile he knew was on his face if he wanted to. Especially when Sherlock looked at him the way he did right at that moment. </p><p>“What would you wish for?” John asked as he gingerly plucked the dandelion that Sherlock still somehow held in his fingers.</p><p>“I wish we would have done this a lot sooner,” he admitted and John nodded.</p><p>“Me as well. We never do things the easy way though, do we? God, we’re a couple of idiots.”</p><p>“Obviously,” Sherlock agreed.</p><p>John laughed loudly, then quickly covered his mouth with his hand to stifle the sound. He didn’t want to wake his daughter. </p><p>“I think we owe Rosie a trip to the ice cream parlor after her nap,” he murmured, and Sherlock chuckled softly.</p><p>“What for?” he inquired. </p><p>“As a thank you,” John explained as he reached up and carefully tucked the yellow blossom into Sherlock’s curls. “For putting flowers in your hair.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! Kudos and comments bring me joy and we can all use a little more joy in our lives. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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